


Orpheus Park

by NicoleAnell



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-18
Updated: 2011-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-23 20:42:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/254782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NicoleAnell/pseuds/NicoleAnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for bsg_kink Twelve Colonies locations challenge, prompt: "Gaius/Caprica, Orpheus Park, Caprica."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Orpheus Park

He's never been terribly attracted to nature, but Orpheus Park has a clean, artificial beauty that reminds him less of slogging through cow dung and more of park benches and daylight strolls. She loves it here. She takes a sensual delight in every breeze or falling leaf that's almost frightening. When they're in a secluded path of perfectly-lined trees and imported Virgon butterflies, she runs her hand through a bed of flowers even as they talk about defense matters, as she gives her coy answers again when he inquires -- he must at least _pretend_ to be interested -- in what her company does, and how she thinks they can help each other.

He can't say why he plucks one of the flowers, a light purple string of orchids, up from the ground and offers it to her. The conversation has turned boring, and he wanted to be charming. The truth is he'd had a mad impulse of laying it in her hair, like one of those old statues of the gods, of Aphrodite adorned with flowers. "You shouldn't have done that," she says, but there's a glint of a smile in her eyes. Something else though, reproachful. "You've broken it."

It's true, he's ripped it too short to keep around in a vase. "It's already dying inside, isn't it?" he says, nodding half-seriously. "Should I get you _another_ one?"

She looks at it strangely, closes it into her palm. She looks at the path whole again, the row of carnations and cherry blossoms, artfully designed by some government planner, like she's seeing them with new eyes. Just as quickly the flicker of sadness is gone. "Not yet," she says, he's not sure to which question. She says, "Let's keep walking," and steps off the stone path and deeper into the woods.

That she corners him against a tree and drowns him in kisses doesn't surprise him anymore, but when she takes his hand and leads it up her dress where she's wet and wanting, his breath catches. ("You shouldn't have done that," he wants to say, but it's obviously untrue.) "Should we go back to the car?" he asks her stupidly. She's already unbuttoning his pants and he's aware of the slightly nervous, slightly eager quiver in his mouth. "What if someone catches us?"

"They'll tell us to leave," she answers, undeterred. It's enough to hear her say it; he abandons decorum and kisses her ferociously, teases her clit with his finger as she shudders against him and makes soft, pleading noises. "My Aphrodite," he calls her, as much in love with hearing the words in his own voice. "My Achelois."

She grips his hair tighter and kisses his throat. "Shhhh." He wonders if she wasn't kidding, what she told him the last time about blasphemy, but she always seemed the type to be as uninterested in religion as he is.

It's only later, his arm thoughtlessly in hers, that he realizes she's still clutching the orchid stem in her hand.


End file.
